


and at the moment you feel very alone.

by lizzledpink



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Shenanigans, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-30
Updated: 2011-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:23:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzledpink/pseuds/lizzledpink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which topiaries are mistreated and many a flashback is flashed-back upon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and at the moment you feel very alone.

> Reader: Be the lonely girl.

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and at the moment you feel very alone.

You live in an enormous mansion, decorated in a mixture of odd styles, with a very unique focus on wizardry and other silly things that your mother once thought you liked, underneath the gossamer veneer of passive-aggressive mutual odiousness. But since she’s gone now, you don’t question her motives as much. You prefer to live in the present, without reflecting too much on events before April 14th of 2009.

At the present, you find yourself thirteen years old (six solar sweeps, not that it’s relevant). You live in this mansion with your ectoplasmic paradox brother, and you are bored.

Terribly bored. It almost makes you long for autumn to recommence, and you loathe autumn and the school it brings with it. So summer is almost worse. Almost.

You recline your head against the windowpane and stare out. Summer and all its dreadful hallmarks are making themselves opaque, particularly in the form of blistering heat. How undesirable.

Spring was better, you think. Hectic, insane, and apocalyptic in the most unfortuitous of literal ways, but better.

> Rose: Remember Spring.

“Good morning, class. I’m aware it’s unusual circumstances, but we have a student transferring into our class for the remainder of the year.”

You are one of the few students who doesn’t immediately start whispering to their close friends. This is for a number of reasons. For one, you are already acutely aware of the new student’s identity. For another, you require friends who understand the value of a respectful facade when faced with the authority figures of teachers. Finally, and perhaps as an indirect result of the previous reason, close friends? You have none.

This is the moment when Dave Strider walks into the room. You sigh, feigning disinterest while the rest of the class begins already to judge, preparing to include or ostracize him as the will of the class dictates.

You only _feign_ disinterest because in a way, this is the first time you have properly met the real Dave.  You have talked online with him for years, of course. You have also seen him via the server copy of Sburb, and you also met him, of course, when the time came. But that was a slightly different Dave. That Dave was a battle-ready, failure-prone Knight of Time, nearly an entire year older from all the time-traveling he had accumulated.

This Dave looks like… Well, Dave. Like the person with whom you saved the universe(s). You smile slightly, a sight guaranteed to terrify, as you gaze upon him directly through those glasses he always wears. The ones John gave him.

You make a mental note to meet John and Jade in person ASAP. Then something changes. Dave turns his head the tiniest bit, and now, you know, he is meeting your eyes.

He nods. It looks like he’s greeting the class, but he’s really acknowledging you. You smile a bit wider.

“This is David Strider,” your teacher says.

“Dave.” Is it just you, or is his voice the tiniest bit higher than you remember?

“Sorry, Dave Strider. He’ll be joining us now, and is expected to attend class with all of you next year, as well, so do your best to help him adjust and make him feel welcome.”

The metaphorical talons released by the students are nearly visible, you think. It’s a good thing you know Strider, or you would worry about him. But then, if you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t care, so the point is moot.

“Dave, find a seat.”

“Oh, sit by me!” shouts a particularly enamored girl by the name of Susan. You only just manage to avoid a facepalm combo.

Strider ignores her and beelines for the seat adjacent to your person. You smile as he slides in beside you, a grim harbinger of the doom that, with the two of you as a team, will inevitably descend upon the other children.

The teacher appears surprised, for she is unprofessional, shows favoritism, and knows of your semi-permanent self-enforced loner status. “Are you want that seat, Dave?”

“Well, of course I do. Why wouldn’t I -“

Oh, Jesus. He’s going to say -

”- want to sit with my sister?”

(MENTAL) FACEPALM 2X COMBO!

The kids stare. Dave smirks, though, and seeing that, you smirk too.

At least these final months of school won’t be boring.

> Rose: Stop remembering Spring.

You snap out of the fond memory, only to notice that something has changed.

The hedge you were just gazing at now resembles a cat. Specifically, Mr. Jaspers.

“What.” Last you checked, it had been a perfectly rectangular hedge, not a mildly grotesque topiary of your dead feline companion. You suspect shenanigans, and will promptly investigate. You are not by nature a detective, but you have been known to dabble, and you are never adverse to the lure of a good mystery.

It’s a shame you don’t own a magnifying glass or a deerstalker. For proper detective equipment, the high-tech DNA Analyzer in the basement will have to do.

You adjust your headband and prepare yourself for the cruel summer heat. You head to the front door and leave the mansion, using your hand to shield yourself from the light of the sun.

It turns out the all the plain yet cultured hedges spread about the yard have been turned into designer styles. One of the bushes makes a bright green, gigantic Squiddle, another is shaped like Becquerel.

The plot thickens, which is a phrase you use to amplify the dramatic tension, rather than to accurately describe the immediate state of affairs. The topiary of Becquerel actually makes the entire exercise pointless, for only three suspects remain now and of them, the culprit is all but certain. The plot has thinned. But nobody likes thinning plots, so for now, you will ignore that.

You continue to walk across the grounds, searching, and stumble upon a clue in the form of -

THIS IS STUPID.

It’s not a clue, or a lead. It’s a leaf. It’s a plain, yellow-green leaf that doesn’t tell you anything. Never mind. Ditching all pretense of mystery, you abandon your concocted fantasy and stroll right past the Mr. Jaspers topiary that sparked the ordeal in the first place.

You find Strider.

Dave is using one of his katanas (the ones you had to have specially imported because they were “clearly” Bro’s property and not Dave’s) to behead a bush. 

The bush has been carefully carved into the shape of a being. A troll, you speculate, but you only know that because of the leafy head that has just toppled to the ground. It has horns. You can’t tell which troll it is, not really, but you know Strider and can guess. 

You don’t say anything, because that would make it real.

“Dave?”

He turns and faces you, expressionless. Of course. You would expect nothing less. On the very instant that he recognises you, he lowers the blade to his side, holding it carelessly. You’re no swordswoman, but you know that this is the least ironic, most bullshit thing that a fighter can do. Even you could knock that sword from his hand, if you were click enough.

The fact that he has lowered it means he doesn’t intend to attack and doesn’t feel the need to defend, which means that he trusts you.

This is not a new revelation, but the impact of it never fails to make you pause for a moment. Strider is the coolest, most awesome person ever, which essentially and inevitably means that he is a distrustful asshole. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that in the game you saved each other’s lives over and over, but it still stuns you. 

You wonder if the fact that the other people who have earned that trust -

> Rose: Stop psychoanalyzing.

You stop psychoanalyzing. You can always do that later.

“Hey, Lalonde.”

“Feeling creative, were we?”

Dave shrugs. “I’m an artist.”

“I thought you were a musician.”

“Sound isn’t where music ends,” Dave says, and your lips twitch in amusement. You’ve heard this time and time again by Pesterchum, and you know what comes next. “Sound’s just the result. Maybe it’s not about the words or the beat, Lalonde, it’s like a rhythm that flows through my brain and gets discharged by my soul, into my body and through my arms and my fingers and my dick and into the ground. That’s where it starts, and then it just rises up like a crashing tidal wave and brings me down with it, deep where it hurts. I drown, woman. I drown.”

“Do I need to begin CPR to resuscitate you?”

“No need. This shit resuscitates itself. I’m breathing…” Dave lifts his chin just a bit higher, just for the dramatic pause. “…Truth itself.”

“The truth makes you high,” you observe.

“Truth is fucking LSD,” Dave agrees. Then, he gets bored of the irony and you both quit before the joke goes too far. As always. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering about the hedges, that’s all.”

“I got bored.”

“So you took out a sword and started slicing up the local flora?”

“Some people take their shit out on fictional characters,” he replies. “I take it out by slicing it.”

“You slice your shit.”

“It’s not literal, Lalonde.”

“Clearly.”

There is nothing more to say, so a great stare-off begins.

Stare-offs are difficult when the other person’s eyes are obscured by obsidian-dark glass, but you manage. Instead of a rule against blinking, you each wait each other out. It is the ultimate battle: your need to pick apart the entirety of Dave’s disturbed psyche and his need to not give a fuck.

Often, you tie.

But this time, you manage to discern his true intentions before his not-fuck-giving nature manages to deter you completely. 

Begin the poking.

“Oh, I see. You wanted to bug _me_ ,” you observe aloud. 

“What?”

“Oh, Dave, if you had a crush on me, all you had to do was say something. This is you trying to annoy me. You’re pulling on my pigtails,” you say. You allow yourself a tiny, triumphant smirk. It’s a lie, of course, but it’s just enough of one…

“No. Okay, seriously. No. That is just wrong, Rose. Sick. We’re slimetwins, or something.” He inadvertently takes a step back. You are one step closer to winning this psychological war.

“So why?” you challenge. “What do you get out of annoying me? Security that I’ll never abandon you even if you’re a jerk? No, that can’t be it. You already are one and I’m okay with that.”

“Lalonde, you really should shut up.”

“No, no, I’ve got it. Oh, there it is - you need an enemy. You’re so used to fighting battles that you still need some sort of foe, even if that foe is your friend.”

“You know fuck-all about that,” Dave growls. Insofar as he can growl, that is. It’s more like the tiniest, paper-thin edge has been added to his usual too cool voice. You’re good at detecting it, but others would miss it entirely.

“So, you chose me. Dave, I’m honored.”

“Yeah, well, you chose me!”

“I only began this silent war because you seem to think it exists,” Rose declares.

“You needed it after all those years of playing the little brat with your crazy-ass mom.”

“You need it after all those years fighting Bro! That’s all you’ve ever known, having somebody to fight!”

“Yeah, and both of them are gone now!”

This is the part when you each stop and realise you have gone a bit too far, cut a bit too deep. 

You eye Strider nervously. You miss your mother, and you wish you didn’t feel it was necessary to do everything, to take care of everybody, now.

> Rose: Briefly flashback.

You drag the pen across the paper, a perfect mimicry of your mother’s handwriting. Moments later, the fax is on its way, and you know the paper will be approved within a matter of hours. Your mother has influence. 

Had influence.

With a satisfied smile, knowing that within a week Dave will be here with you and you won’t be alone.

> Rose: Briefly flashforward, but not too much.

“You can bike to school like me.”

“Bike?”

“Yes, of -“

“ _Bike?_ ”

“What’s wrong?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “I already brought my skateboard.”

…

That works.

> Rose: Return your thoughts to the present.

You’re just as screwed up, it just shows up differently. He’s always ready for a battle and fight, and doesn’t let anybody close; you keep feeling the need to check on everything, to pretend everybody is okay and ensure that all is taken care of. If you let yourself, you can trace the roots to when you went Grimdark - it still hurts, and this is your repentance, dealing with everything you can and leaving little less for Jade and John and especially Dave to take care of. 

And that’s enough self-psychoanalysis for now. You can break down a bit later.

“We’re bickering like siblings,” you mutter.

“We _are_  siblings. We take care of each other and piss each other off, Sis.”

“Sis?”

Dave shrugs.

You suppose there are worse things he could call you.

“Truce?” He asks. He holds out a hand, and you could almost swear he’s smiling at you.

You purse your lips. “Temporary, conditional armistice.”

“Name your condition.”

“I want you to return my notebook.”

“Then I set that you have to stop leaving little _pink_  sticky notes everywhere.”

You have to smile at that. Those were fun. It’s not that Dave has much against the color pink. It’s just that the sticky notes you use are _blindingly_  pink. So fun.

“Deal.” You solemnly shake on it.

“What now?”

You consider.

“I could retrieve my razor-sharp needles. That bush over there had a lump in it that looks suspiciously like Egbert’s nose.”

Dave nods. “We will make this the most ironic collection of plant-style wax statues the world has ever seen.”

Your grin turns evil.

Battle lost? You’re not certain and you don’t care. This is a war that has only one ending result: 

Fun.

==>


End file.
